Pins and Needles
by Lif61
Summary: Since Sam stopped ignoring his hallucinations of Lucifer they've been increasingly worse, and he's not sure how much more of it he can take.


**A/N: Written for a Sam Winchester prompt on tumblr. Prompt - pincushion**

 **WARNING: Hallucinations, graphic depictions of torture, and mentions of rape**

* * *

The hallucinations just wouldn't let up. He'd talked to him. After months he'd finally talked to him, and now it was worse than ever. Sam couldn't even sleep. Lucifer was a constant presence in his head, in his life. It didn't matter that he wasn't really there because it sure as hell felt like it. There was no ignoring the taunts and the unwelcome touches. No ignoring how terrified he was every second of every day.

So it was no wonder that Sam lay awake in bed. Dean, tired from their most recent hunt, was out cold. Sam nearly envied him, but he knew that were he asleep he'd be lost in nightmares. There was no escaping his torment.

For the moment Lucifer was quiet, his glowing red eyes staring out at Sam through the dark of the room, malicious and hungry. Sam wasn't sure what was worse; when Lucifer spoke, or when he didn't. The things he said were atrocious, and at best, annoying, but when he was quiet, Sam knew he was devising yet another way to hurt him.

A shiver of fear ran through him, and he rolled onto his stomach. That didn't help any because even though he could no longer see Lucifer he could _feel_ his gaze on him. It was sickening. He squeezed his eyes shut as he heard a creak; Lucifer was getting up from the chair he'd been sitting in. Slowly, slowly, he approached Sam, his footsteps deliberately loud against the wood paneling of the floor. His heart was pattering in his chest, almost as if it wished to escape. Every bone in his body was screaming at him to run, to hide, but he knew that there was no running, no hiding.

A frightened whimper nearly left Sam when he felt Lucifer's breath, as cold and biting as winter air, waft against the side of his face. Another shiver ran through him, but this time, the cold stayed, and the hair on his body rose up in goosebumps.

Lucifer snapped his fingers right next to Sam's ear, and he jumped from the unexpected noise.

"So you are up," the Devil observed. "Good, because I was thinking, wouldn't it be fun if we relived our greatest hits? You know, took a stroll down memory lane?"

Sam rolled over onto his side, his back towards him. Desperately, he massaged his thumb into the scarred flesh on the palm of his left hand.

Lucifer laughed. "You know that won't work."

Suddenly, he was in front of Sam, and he grabbed hold of his left hand. Thoroughly startled, he sat up and attempted to wrench his hand away from Lucifer. His grip was tight and unyielding. He pressed his thumb against his palm, pressed until it hurt, and then some. Sam was doubled over, his breath not wanting to come to him. Ice seemed to be stabbing into him from the cold touch.

"See, Sam? I'm pressing, and I'm still here."

Finally, he released his hand, and Sam cradled it to his chest, looking up at Lucifer through the hair that'd fallen in front of his face, gasping for breath.

Before he could recover from that the Devil started poking him.

"Poke, poke, poke, poke..." He said the word with each tap against his skin.

Sam scooted away from him, but Lucifer just moved with him, getting in his personal space.

"Poke, poke."

He tapped Sam's nose, and started laughing from genuine amusement. The hunter just stared at him, barely able to breathe.

"What?" Lucifer asked. "That not impressive enough? I could poke you with other things. Like spikes for instance - those are _great_. But you know that already, don't you, partner?"

That was it. Sam couldn't take it anymore. He pushed Lucifer aside, and rushed into the bathroom, nearly slamming the door behind him.

His body ached from sleep deprivation, and his eyes nearly felt like they were burning, but despite his fatigue he was breathing heavily, fear running through his veins. Feeling lightheaded, Sam braced himself against the cracked sink once he turned the light on. No matter how hard he tried it was like he couldn't get enough air in.

 _Breathe, Sam. Just breathe._

"Yeah, Sam, maybe you should take a deep breath. You look a little on edge over there."

He glanced up into the mirror, and Lucifer's blue-eyed gaze met his. A groan of despair left him as he lowered his head again.

"What's wrong?" Lucifer questioned. "Is this really so bad? We get to spend more time with each other."

" _Shut. The hell. Up._ "

"There you go, using that mouth of yours. Although, I suppose I _could_ get you to use it for other things. What do you think? Would you like that?"

"You know I don't like any of it," Sam argued. Though he wanted to shout he attempted to keep his voice down, for Dean's sake. Besides, it'd be downright embarrassing for his brother to walk in on this.

Now he found himself fighting back horrid memories of Lucifer using his body to pleasure himself. Another shudder ran through him, and his stomach curled, when the memories grew more vivid. There was heat, and ice cold, and unwanted pleasure, and deep pain he'd never experienced before, and the vile touch of Lucifer's skin against his. And the shame was the worst of it. Thinking of it now made his cheeks burn red. Lucifer trailed his hand down his spine, as if he knew exactly what he was thinking about. He caught Sam's gaze in the mirror, and then winked at him.

Another shudder made its way through his body, and the Devil walked around him. Sam could feel the way he was studying him; his body, his soul. He grit his teeth, and then straightened, facing him. Though he now found himself looking down at his tormentor he didn't feel any better. There was no having the upper hand when it came to this dark angel.

"That's too bad, really," Lucifer eventually told him. "I love your mouth." He shrugged. "Oh well, I suppose I could do something else with you for the time being. How do you feel about needles?"

And that was how Sam ended up on the floor, his back against the door, and Lucifer carefully inserting needles into him. As much as he struggled and tried to move, he couldn't. He was frozen to the spot. Hot blood poured out onto his skin from millions of tiny wounds, and there was an incessant _drip, drip, drip_ as red beads of it fell to the floor.

Sam had lost track of how many needles were in him, or even where they were. All he knew was pain, deep and aching, or sharp and burning. Sweat coated his body, mixing with the blood, and his bottom lip was split from how many times he'd bitten it in order to hold back his screams. His body was on fire, and his mind burned with memories of Lucifer doing this to him in the Cage.

Another needle appeared in Lucifer's hand, and he waved it dangerously close to his face, the sharp end nearly poking his eye. Sam shuddered, trying to follow the metallic object as it swam through his vision.

Then, Lucifer pulled it back, letting out a hearty laugh. "I'm only kidding. I like your eyes too much to gouge them out."

With one hand he yanked on Sam's right ear painfully. A burning sensation flooded his nerves a second later, and then fresh blood was dripping from the tear in his skin. A stifled cry left him, and he bit his lip again, attempting to hold it back. But biting down on his already sensitive and bleeding lip just brought him more pain. Tears welled up in his eyes, and Lucifer's face became blurry in his vision.

"Yep, this seems sensitive enough," Lucifer observed before promptly inserting the needle into Sam's ear.

This time he couldn't hold his voice back, and a wordless shout left him. Lucifer just smiled and ran a hand through his damp hair.

The initial pain passed, and it soon joined the rest of the agony in his body.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

It didn't matter that he'd asked this in the Cage multiple times, didn't matter that he'd asked it since then. Sam couldn't make sense of why this was happening to him, so he had to ask. He had to know.

The Devil shrugged, and Sam began to fear his answer would be far from enlightening. "I get bored. Besides, you're Sam Winchester! Legendary hunter, boy with the demon blood, my vessel. You're special, Sam. So very, very special."

As he said that yet another needle appeared in his hand. Before Sam could protest he reached his hand around and jabbed it into Sam's lower back. His back arched as a reaction to the new pain stabbing through him, making his body strain upwards into Lucifer. He was about to let out a scream, but this time the dark angel clamped his hand firmly over his mouth.

"Sh… Don't wanna wake up, Dean. He'd just interrupt us. Besides," - Lucifer pressed himself up against Sam, an action that only pushed some of the needles in deeper - "I like to think we're having a moment."

Sam just looked at him with wide, panicked eyes. He wanted it to stop. Why wouldn't it stop?

Lucifer removed his hand, and brought himself even closer, closing his eyes blissfully as he breathed in his scent.

"Ah… You know, I've smelled a lot of fear in my lifetime, but the scent of your fear is just so raw, so delicious, so…" He nuzzled his neck (causing Sam to grimace) before finishing, " _Perfect_."

The Devil's lips brushed against Sam's sweat-slicked and bloodied skin, a sensation that was worse than any pain. The hunter attempted to move away from him, but it was like his muscles didn't want to listen. Another tear rolled down his cheek as he once again realized just how helpless he was.

Long seconds passed where Sam feared that maybe Lucifer would touch him even more. Had he been asked to choose between that and the torture, he'd take the torture any day. A breath left him when he pulled back, one he hadn't even realized he'd been holding.

"Like I said earlier, Sammy, keep breathing. Wouldn't want you to pass out on me."

Sam's stomach knotted from the Devil using his nickname like that. It just wasn't _right_ for anyone but Dean to call him that.

Lucifer stood, and he grabbed Sam's legs, attempting to pull them out in front of him.

"No!" he cried out, completely forgetting about Dean in the other room. All he knew was that he didn't want the Devil to touch him anymore.

He fought him, pulling his legs back, and pushing at his arms. Lucifer simply removed a few needles with one hand, bunched them together, and then stabbed them into his thigh. The fight left Sam as sheer agony flooded his nerves.

There was fire, and then a cold touch, and then blackness took him.

He came to a few seconds later with Lucifer straddling his legs, smiling at him in an unnervingly peaceful manner.

Yet another needle appeared, and Sam watched as it slowly pierced his skin, next to the needles that stuck out of his leg like a clump of thorns. Deeper and deeper it went, and the searing turned into aching, which just penetrated further and further into his body. Sam shook, his breath barely coming to him, his heart running a marathon in his chest, as Lucifer shoved the needle all the way in. For a moment, he panicked, wondering how he was going to get the needle back out since he had nothing to grab hold of. But then he remembered this wasn't real.

But it didn't matter. That didn't ease the flares of hot and cold that now travelled through his aching leg, or the physical torment the rest of his body was suffering.

"So, Sam," Lucifer began, his tone genuinely curious, "How does it feel to be a pincushion?"

Another despairing groan left him and he leaned his head back against the door. Then, there was a knock. Sam's heart leapt into his throat.

No, no! Dean couldn't see him like this. What would his brother think if he found him on the floor, a sweaty, sobbing mess? The knock came again.

"Are you going to get that, or should I?"

Sam nearly growled at Lucifer in sheer frustration, but he held it back, knowing that he'd most likely receive more torture.

"Sam?" Dean called. "Sam, are you okay?"

A barely audible cry left him as Lucifer grabbed his left hand and began inserting another needle. Through gritted teeth Sam answered, "Yeah, I'm fine."

"Really? 'Cause you don't sound like it."

The Devil finished with that needle, took out another and began to put it into his hand, next to the other one. It scraped against his knuckle and Sam bit his bleeding lip against a scream.

Lucifer put a finger to his lips. "Sh…"

A delighted and nearly childish-sounding giggle left him, and he went back to his work.

Sam closed his eyes, forced himself to take a deep breath. "Yeah. I-I'll be out in a minute."

Another needle was inserted into him, this time into his abdomen, and Sam did scream.

"That's it, Sam. I'm coming in."

"Oh no, guess I'd better hide," Lucifer teased.

Without any preamble he jabbed a needle into the tip of his finger. Sam screamed again.

The door handle turned, there was pressure against his back as Dean attempted to open the door, and then he gave up.

"Come on, Sam, I just want to help. Please, you have to let me in."

"Let me in, let me in. Huh, sounds a little like me." The Devil leaned forward and then said quietly, "Except you did let me in."

A few minutes passed like that, but to Sam, they felt like hours. He couldn't get up off the floor, especially not when it seemed like Lucifer was on top of him. He tried to break free of the hold the hallucinations had on him, Lucifer continued to stab him, and Dean tried to coax him to open the door. There was so much pain and confusion that Sam could no longer tell the difference between the hallucinations and reality.

Eventually, when the torture he was enduring grew so mind-numbing a coherent word couldn't even pass his lips, Lucifer stopped. When he got off of him Sam had enough sense left to scramble away from the door. By this point Dean was so panicked that he kicked it in.

Sam cowered against the wall, curling himself into a ball. There were more needles jabbed into his body than any one person could count, and blood coated his skin and stained his now-ruined pajamas. It dripped off of him, till the white tiles of the floor were slick and red. One second there'd been that mess, _he'd_ been a mess, and then all of it, all the pain, the blood, it ceased to exist. All his wounds were gone, save for the multiple cuts on his lip. Those he'd inflicted upon himself, so they were unfortunately very real.

Sam found himself choking back confused and frightened tears as Dean helped him to his feet. Lucifer was still in the room, but now he was just smiling at Sam serenely.

Dean got Sam over to his bed, and the room was now lit by a lamp on the shared bedside table.

"Is it Lucifer?" Dean asked.

Sam looked to the dark angel in question as he sauntered out of the bathroom, and then to Dean. He nodded, his eyes wide.

"Sam, you know he's not real."

"It doesn't matter. I feel everything, Dean. Everything!"

"You sure do," Lucifer added. "So since we're finished with that I guess you can put _being a pincushion_ under _Experience_ on your résumé." He thoughtfully tapped a finger against his chin. "Though, I'm not sure what sort of job you'd be applying for, especially since you're so busy being my toy. Or are you my pet?"

"Shut up!" Sam snapped at him.

Confused, Dean asked. "Me?"

"No, him."

Sam pointed to where Lucifer was standing, just beside Dean, as if that would help.

"Sam, I swear to you, he's not there."

Lucifer gave Dean a flippant glance. "Rude."

Sam shook his head, his upper lip trembling in distress. "I know, I know, but he just won't… leave me… _alone_." He looked to his brother, tears in his eyes. "Dean, I'm not sure how much more of this I can take."

And that's when he started sobbing. Usually Sam wouldn't break down like this in front of his brother, but he was just so tired, and so afraid. And usually, Dean wouldn't do anything to comfort his brother for fear of going about it the wrong way, but for now he joined Sam on the bed, and wrapped his arms around him. Sam attempted to find comfort in those strong arms that had so often held him when he was little, but there was none to be found, not with Lucifer in his peripheral vision.

"It won't be like this forever, Sammy," Dean soothed. "I promise."

Sam wanted to believe him. He really, _really_ did, but a low, smooth voice whispered in his ear, "Don't be so sure."

So Sam kept crying, praying to God, praying to anything out there, that the hallucinations would stop, that he would get some rest.

They had to stop.

They just had to.


End file.
